


Proposal

by Silent_So_Long



Category: Rammstein
Genre: M/M, Marriage Proposal, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:12:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4200438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard, Paul and a proposal</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proposal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sue7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sue7/gifts).



> This story was inspired by a comment that Sue7 left on another fic of mine, [Playground](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4170540), regarding being intrigued by a mention of a marriage proposal in that story. This story is not related to Playground, however; as such, it’s not a requirement to read that fic first (or at all ... unless you really want to, that is.) I just wanted to write this one because Sue7 gave me the idea! XD

Paul sank down upon the bed with a loud groan, eyes closing almost as soon as his head touched the overstuffed pillows that crowded the top of the mattress. Every part of his body ached, even the parts that he’d no idea even existed previously; his feet ached most of all, however, and almost felt as though they were burning with tiredness. He stretched his legs, and felt the odd twinge of exhaustion in most of the muscles, before he flexed his toes, and felt them straining against the soft covering of his socks. He sighed again, and tried to relax, yet he found that he could not do so properly, or at least he couldn’t fully. 

He opened one eye when he heard Richard sneaking his way into his room; Richard had looked a little pre-occupied all day, yet Paul had had no reason to thick that it was pre-gig jitters and nervousness. After all, that night had marked the occasion of Rammstein’s first gig in two years; Paul himself had felt the nervous flutters of butterflies beating myriad wings in his stomach before he’d walked out onstage, yet it was nervousness of a good kind, the kind that spurred them all on to putting on the best show they’d performed in years. Even Flake had not had anything acerbic to say about the concert, and that was a rare feat for him; Flake was rarely ever without a complaint on his lips, or a bad word to say about something or other. 

“Tired?” Richard asked, as he sank down upon the bed next to Paul.

The tired groan that Richard made when his head hit the pillow beside Paul’s indicated that Richard, too, was tired, further exemplified by the dark shadows that smudged their way beneath the other man’s eyes when Paul stared at him. Paul worried at that; it wasn’t often that Richard looked that tired, and he wondered if perhaps there was something else that was bothering the other man.

“Paul?” Richard asked, turning that shadow-eyed look upon him, brows pulled down low over them.

It was only then that Paul remembered that Richard had even asked a question at all. He gave the other man a sheepish smile, before he nodded.

“Yeah, I'm tired,” he said, wearily. “You?” 

“Yeah,” Richard said, before he fell silent again. 

“Wanna snuggle?” Paul asked, but didn’t immediately move to slide his arms around the other man.

It always was important to Paul to have Richard’s consent to touch him, even though the other man rarely ever refused a cuddle, or kiss, or a bout of ardent love-making.

“Is that a euphemism for sex, Paul?” Richard asked, as he cupped a laughing yawn behind one weary hand. 

“No. A snuggle is exactly what it sounds like - a snuggle,” Paul replied, even as he laughed himself. “Not everything comes down to sex, Reesh.”

“You’re no fun,” Richard said, with a mock-pout at Paul, but he sounded as though his heart wasn’t entirely in joking around. “And actually, a snuggle sounds great, right now. I'm too tired for sex.”

“Wow,” Paul said, as he raised both eyebrows at Richard. “You must be tired.”

Richard laughed suddenly at that, before he turned a grin upon the other man.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Richard asked. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

Paul huffed dryly at that, before he smiled.

“We don’t need to have sex every night, Reesh,” he said. “I think we'll live.”

“Hmm,” Richard said, as he lifted one of Paul’s hands to kiss the knuckles, thumb rubbing against them long after his lips had eased away. “You know I love you, right?” 

“I know,” Paul said, softly. “Which is why we don’t need sex every night to prove we still love each other.”

Richard smiled but didn’t say anything for a long time. Paul stared at the other man’s profile, at Richard‘s strong jaw-line and the way that his nose tilted upwards a little at the end. He sighed, eventually, before he moved to get up with a groan.

“Where are you going?” Richard asked, as he turned a sudden, surprised look upon Paul.

“To get changed into my pyjamas, as should you,” Paul replied. “I assume that you do actually want to sleep tonight, yes?” 

Richard grunted, but didn’t immediately move.

Then he said - “I left my pyjamas in my room.” 

“You’d best get them, then,” Paul responded. “Mine won’t fit you, you know that. You ripped the last pair you borrowed from me, you great bloody Hulk.” 

Richard’s laughter was worth the reminder, even as the other man struggled wearily to his feet. Paul smiled and watched Richard leave, before he set himself the task of getting changed and brushing his teeth in the small en-suite bathroom. Rehired was just slipping back into the room as Paul finished, changed now into his own pyjamas. They slid into bed together, after Paul had snapped off the light; Richard’s arms around him were a familiar weight, as was Richard’s mouth against his own, soft and warm in the night. Paul rubbed his nose against Richard’s after the kiss had ended, before he curled up into the other man’s warmth, eyes dragging themselves closed as he listened to the sound of Richard’s heartbeat thudding close and methodically near to his ear. 

The next day dawned humid and close and Paul felt the first tugs of a an imminent headache tugging at the backs of his eyes; a change in weather always prompted headaches of varying degrees, and that day he seemed destined to not escape a potentially nasty one. Richard still seemed distracted, and his attention wandered off at odd angles without warning; he seeming not to listen to him, whenever Paul talked. Whilst that was a little irritating, it also was more than a little disconcerting; sometimes, it looked as though Richard was wrapped in a worried little trance, furrows of stress appearing between his brows. Richard, however, seemed to brush off Paul’s worried questions whenever Paul asked the other man whether he was alright; Richard didn’t seem in any mood to talk, so Paul lapsed into silence on that matter, worry deepening when he observed that Richard’s distracted state continued. 

Whenever he tried to ask the rest of the band what was wrong with Richard, fearing the worst, Paul received no help or answers; their silence only seemed to continue no matter how many times that Paul persisted in asking. Only Till seemed partway amused by the situation, mouth curling into a little smirk before the other man tried to hide it, to wipe the accompanying laugh away with a sweep of his hand and hastily scrubbing fingers. 

“What is it, Till?” Paul asked, and not for the first time.

“What’s what?” Till asked, with an all too innocent expression that was somewhat offset by the smirk that always threatened. 

“What aren’t you telling me?” Paul asked.

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Paul,” Till said. “There’s plenty of things I’m not telling you.” 

“About Richard?” Paul prompted, not amused. 

“He’s gay?” Till prevaricated.

“I know that, dickhead. I’m dating him,” Paul said, disgusted. 

“I’m glad you said dating and not sleeping with,” Till said, with an arch lift of one eyebrow that did nothing to hide the continuing smirk that graced the other man‘s mouth.

“Well, actually, now that you come to mention it ... “ Paul said, with a grin. “I’ll give you all the juicy details of everything that we get up to, if you don’t fucking tell me what’s going on.” 

“Spare me that, please, Paul, if you would; my head‘s fucked up enough as it is without knowing all that you two get up to. All I can say is that it’s nothing to worry about,” Till said, with a shrug.

“Oh right; so you admit that there is something going on,” Paul said. “I knew it.” 

“Just ask Richard,” Till said. “Or better still, let him tell you, or rather ask you, himself.” 

“Way to be obfuscating, Till,” Paul said. “And don’t say you don’t what that means. I know perfectly well that you do.” 

Till merely laughed, hands held at the level of his chest in a warding gesture. 

“Just wait for Richard,” he repeated, patiently. 

Paul merely huffed and turned away.

:::

Richard’s distraction grew worse, and Paul almost did not take Till’s advice. He was on the verge of asking Richard what the matter was a few days after Till had given his advice, worry twisting nervously at his gut when Richard noticed Paul’s tight-faced scrutiny and rewarded him with a sunny smile and a distracting kiss. That that kiss led to the best love-making that both men had shared in a while somewhat mollified Paul, but the feeling of worry still remained despite his blissful satiation. 

Things didn’t come to a head until some time later, on Richard's birthday. Till and Richard took themselves off before the gig that night and Paul saw them, heads together, voices pitched low and it seemed as though Richard was showing Till something. Paul began to wander over to join them, curiosity gnawing like ten hungry cats at his stomach, yet Olli distracted him, by artfully stepping in his way and asking him to help him with setting up the weights. Paul almost refused but by the time he shifted his attentions from the quiet mannered bassist back to Till and Richard again, he found that they’d already disbanded, both going off in separate directions. Richard was even whistling, although his whistles were as dire as they usually were; Paul knew that Richard couldn’t whistle to save his life and that day he was worse than ever. 

The gig that evening went well, and it even took Paul’s mind from his growing all-consuming concerns over Richard. Champagne was shared liberally at the end of the show and Richard gave Paul his customary kiss and cuddle onstage. Paul wasn’t sure but he thought that Richard's hold on him was tighter than usual, kiss deeper and more meaningful; it almost seemed as though Richard didn’t want to let him go once the kiss had ended. Paul smiled, heart clenching at something he couldn’t understand and he stuck close to Richard after that, enjoying the almost possessive way that the other man laid his hand upon his back, fingers describing comforting patterns against Paul’s gig-sweaty flesh. 

Paul shuddered beneath the other man’s touch, eager for the time onstage to finally be over; he wanted to return to his hotel room with Richard, to join with the other man in bed, and spend lazy, heated hours beneath the sheets. He turned his gaze upon Richard and the other man must have read something of Paul's intent in his eyes for he smiled and nodded. Richard leant in and pressed his mouth close to Paul’s ear so that he could shout over the noise of the still cheering crowd. 

“Soon, mein Schatz, soon,” he said, and there was a dark promise in the other man’s eyes that seemed to be promising so much more than mere sex alone. 

Paul still smiled, feeling that odd burst of nervous butterflies erupting in his stomach again. He nodded and toasted Richard silently with his mostly empty glass.

:::

The time it took for them to finally leave the stage and make their way to their hotel seemed forever to Paul, feet dragging tiredly against the floor, heat and humidity around them sapping the energy from his body more than the actual gig had. He felt a little off-kilter with the champagne he’d consumed and far too swiftly, coupled with the lingering buzz and exhilaration from the gig itself; he was waiting for the crash and burn that always came after a concert, good or bad, yet he knew that he had a little time before that happened. 

Paul dragged himself into the shower once he reached his room, and washed the sweat from the gig from his body; he towelled himself dry, thinking of Richard and wondering when the other man would drop by. That he would call on him was a given; Richard had promised both onstage and off, that dark promise held still in his eyes with just the first shimmer of nervousness held in the set of his mouth and the angle of his jaw. Paul wondered once again what was wrong, and he had the horrid sensation that perhaps Richard might not be interested in seeing him anymore. Although it wasn’t the first time that he’d had that thought, it was the first time that it had surfaced so clearly in his mind, and crystallized into something cold and heavy in the put of his stomach. 

He dressed in his lightest pyjamas, and made his way out of the bathroom, just in time to hear a soft rapping at the door; Paul felt a sudden lurch in his stomach, that was fuelled by nervousness. It must have been Richard; he hadn’t ordered room service yet and no one else knocked so politely, with the exception of perhaps Olli. He crossed the floor, and opened the door on Richard’s slightly frowning face; that frown was soon replaced by a smile when Richard saw how little Paul was actually wearing.

“Happy birthday to me,” Richard murmured, as he slid past Paul in the doorway.

“Come in, why don't you?” Paul asked, even as he laughed and closed the door firmly behind them both. 

“I thought that was a done deal; I was coming here for a late night gift-giving,” Richard said, with a wicked grin thrown over his shoulder for Paul’s benefit. “And you’re the one who’s giving it.”

“So I gathered,” Paul said, even as he crossed the room to settle on the side of the bed.

Paul bowed his head and he couldn't stop staring at the floor, suddenly, hands resting on his legs, fingers clasped almost protectively around his knees. He could feel the weight of Richard’s worried gaze upon him and saw the toes of the other man’s boots shuffle into view, yet still he avoided looking up immediately.

“Paulchen?” Richard asked, and there was the worry in his voice that Paul hadn’t quite expected to hear that night.

Paul looked up and saw concern on the other man’s eyes, coupled with an odd flutter in his fingers as though he wanted to reach out and touch Paul, but didn’t quite dare for fear of his reaction. 

“Hmm?” Paul prompted when Richard didn’t immediately continue.

“What’s wrong?” Richard asked. “You’ve been acting oddly all day. In fact, you’ve been acting oddly for a while now, as though you’ve got something on your mind.”

Paul’s eyebrows rose sharply, surprised at what Richard was saying.

“What?” Richard asked, looking suddenly confused. 

“I’m acting oddly? What about you?” Paul asked. “You’ve been acting pretty distant yourself for weeks now, going off and whispering in corners with Till and you won't tell me what’s going on. Neither will Till, for that matter.”

“You talked to Till?” Richard asked and Paul was surprised at the sudden aghast expression upon the other man’s face at the very idea of it. 

“Yes, we are in the same band together. I do have to talk to everyone else on occasion, you know,” Paul said, dryly.

“Its not that, but what did Till tell you, exactly?” Richard asked.

“About what? He’s said nothing about nothing and I know that makes no sense before you say something,” Paul said, with a weary sigh and a raised hand to forestall further questions. “I asked him about you and the way that you were acting, didn’t I? All he said was that he couldn’t say and to let you come to me first. Are you breaking up with me, or what, Reesh?” 

“What the fuck? I’m not breaking up with you, Paul.. What the hell made you think that I was?” Richard asked, and he did finally close the remaining distance between them then to kneel between Paul’s spread legs.

Richard suddenly looked younger than his years, face oddly serene in its sincerity, and Paul knew better than to doubt him. He still remembered the times when Richard had played around when they both were younger, and Paul never knew where Richard would be or how long he’d stick around. Those times were long gone now, set firmly in their shared past and Richard had grown up a hell of a lot since then. He’d shown no sign of straying from Paul’s side for years and had proven himself to be quite the devoted lover. 

“Then what is it, then?” Paul asked. “I’ve been going crazy here, imagining all sorts and none of it good.” 

“Oh, darling,” Richard said, sadly, and he reached up to trace the stubble on Paul’s chin with tender fingertips. 

He didn’t apologize out loud but the words were hanging between them all the same; Paul smiled in acceptance of the silent apology and for a moment, Richard smiled back. 

“I suppose I don’t have a choice but to tell you now, huh? I was hoping that this would happen later, when we had markedly less clothing on and we’d had sex at least once,” Richard said, as he awkwardly fumbled a small box out of his pocket.

He almost dropped the thing upon the floor yet caught in time, before he set it awkwardly upon the back of Paul’s hand.

“Open it,” Richard said.

Paul did as he was asked, and was unsurprised to find a ring nestled inside the box; he hadn’t really expected anything else once he’d seen how small the box was. Those kind of things usually did carry something expensive and ring sized. 

“It’s a ring,” Paul said, uncertain as to what he should be saying now.

“It’s an engagement ring,” Richard said, before he swore. “This isn’t going right, is it? I’m fucking this up. I knew I would. I’m trying to ask you to fucking marry me, Paul.”

Paul could do little more than stare at Richard then, face blank, eyes blinking rapidly beneath the weight of his shocked surprise. Of all the things that he’d been expecting, an actual marriage proposal had been the last of them. 

“Paul? Say something,” Richard said and there was genuine fear in his voice at that. 

“It’s not the smoothest ever proposal, Kruspe, but it’ll have to do, I suppose,” Paul said, mind racing and whirring through a dozen ways to accept and rejecting every single one of them.

They all sounded trite and silly and just as awkward as Richard’s initial proposal. Richard still looked as though he’d been hit by three trains in succession, waiting for Paul’s imminent rejection.

“It’s a no, isn’t it? Oh, fuck, you’re saying no to me,” Richard said. “Oh fuck, Paul, I've really fucked up, haven’t I?”

Paul couldn’t stop the sudden laugh then, even though nothing at all was really funny. That laughter seemed to stop Richard in his tracks and he merely stared at Paul, eyes wide and wounded, mouth soft and lax in his disappointment.

“Jesus, Reesh, but you’re such a fucking drama queen,” Paul said. “I’m not saying no. I’m saying yes, aren’t I?”

“Yes?” Richard repeated, numbly. 

“I want to marry you, you Dummkopf,” Paul said, as he looked down at the ring still nestled snugly within the confines of its little box. “I’m saying fucking yes.”

“Put it on then, you bastard. It’s what I got it for,” Richard said, even as he fumbled the box from Paul's hand and flipped the ring out into his palm. 

He slid it onto Paul’s finger, hand warm and solid and real against Paul’s own. The ring surprised Paul by being the right size for him, cool and slickly silver against the tanned skin of his finger; Paul supposed that Richard must have gotten the exact measurements from one of his other rings. Even though the band was mostly plain, Paul could see the faintest detail of a rose etched upon its surface, expertly cut to only appear at certain angles. He knew it must have set Richard back quite a lot of money, and he knew that it was worth every cent and Euro of the cost.

He looked up at Richard then and was about to speak, yet there was a look in the other man’s eye, as though to actually speak would have ruined the moment. That Paul was now wearing Richard’s ring, had accepted the proposal was enough; words seemed oddly trite now. 

Richard boosted himself up so that he could reach Paul's mouth, lips warm and soft against Paul’s own; there was an odd desperation behind Richard's kiss, as though he couldn’t quite believe that Paul had even accepted, that a rejection still was in the offing. Paul wasn’t going to go back on his acceptance and tried to convey his sincerity in every kiss, in every press and part of his mouth against Richard's and the possessive weight of his hand on the back of the other man’s neck. Richard pulled away far enough so that he could speak.

“On the bed, Paul,” he said, and there was a dark promise in his voice, in his eyes again. 

Paul complied, immediately shrugging out of his pyjama bottoms as he went and tossing them carelessly upon the floor. Richard watched as Paul repeated the motions with the t shirt he always wore to bed, before he began to undress himself, fingers fumbling and awkward against myriad buttons that seemed recalcitrant and unyielding beneath the face of his eagerness. Paul watched him, one hand slowly stroking at his cock as he did so; he was almost fully hard by the time that Richard finally joined him on the bed, ;ube and condoms fished out of Paul's bag by the side of the wardrobe. 

Paul hiked his legs up expectantly and waited for the first slick press of Richard’s fingers against him, before he hissed at the first slide of penetration; Richard waited until Paul had adjusted to him before continuing, every movement well practiced and smooth until he was certain that Paul was ready for him. Paul waited impatiently when Richard drew away, gaze roaming over the soft curves of the other man’s body eagerly as Richard slowly rolled a condom over his erection; Paul spread his legs a little wider when Richard settled atop him, to guide himself inside Paul slowly. 

They did little more than stare at each other, sharing breath once Richard was fully sheathed inside him, before Paul moved awkwardly, silently telling Richard to just get on with it already. Richard laughed at hat, before he rested his forehead against the other man's shoulder awkwardly. Then he began to move, awkwardly, slowly at first, before his movements smoothed out and grew deeper, hips buffeting against hips harshly, and ever more deeply. Paul’s hands caressed Richard's body, mouth slack with pleasure, as he gave himself to Richard, fully, without question or restraint.

He heard Richard’s moans, quiet at first, then louder as his thrusts grew harder and deeper; Paul moved and suddenly the angle was just right, pleasure sparking through his body with every thrust and roll of Richard's hips. He cried out Richard’s name, voice ragged and barely recognisable as his own; he resumed stroking at himself again, until his climax finally coated his fingers and his palm and their abdomens. Richard continued to thrust until he climaxed, breath laboured and blasting against Paul’s shoulder harshly as he rode the last of his climax again. He eased away, before he reached out top take Paul’s hand, thumb rubbing possessively over Paul’s engagement ring.

“You scared me back then, Paul,” he said, almost accusingly. “I thought you were going to turn me down.”

“And I thought you were preparing to leave me,” Paul reminded him, with a laugh. “I guess we both were wrong, huh?” 

“Yeah, thank fuck,” Richard said, with a laugh that rolled and rumbled in his chest, and lit up his face.

He raised Paul’s hand to his lips and kissed the ring reverently, breath harshly tickling against Paul’s skin where his breathing still was heavy. Paul smiled at that but didn’t say anything more. All he did was lay back and stare at Richard, at the contented way that the other man continued rubbing at the ring with his thumb. 

Paul yawned before he checked the time; it was still only a few minutes before midnight, and Paul realized that it still was Richard’s birthday. He suddenly laughed, at the thought of birthdays and proposals and gifts in the shape of acceptance. Richard glared at him, as though offended by the laughter.

“What?” Richard asked, and there was that definite pout that the other man always affected whenever he was uncertain or confused about something.

“Happy birthday, Reesh,” Paul said, as he pointed towards his brand new engagement ring. 

Richard looked almost annoyed at that, before his annoyance slid away beneath a sudden bark of laughter.

“You are the best present any man could have, Paul,” he said.

“But I’m not any man’s. I’m yours,” Paul pointed out.

“And I’m the lucky one,” Richard said, dryly even as he manouvred Paul onto his back again. 

Paul merely laughed, before his chuckles gave way to pleasured moans once more,


End file.
